


Playgrounds Are Graveyards

by franticatlantic



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Cotard delusion, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse, skewed concepts of life and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7150442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franticatlantic/pseuds/franticatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cotard delusion - a rare mental illness in which an afflicted person holds the delusion that they are dead, either figuratively or literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playgrounds Are Graveyards

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'Nothing & Nowhere' by Emily Haines.

Tyler never held a gun before this.

He tells himself that's why he's so shaky, hand trembling, fingers sweaty on the grip. If he doesn't shoot, the thing's liable to slip right out of his hand.

When they were little, he and Zack had a BB gun they shared, shooting targets in the basement and the backyard. But that could hardly have been considered a real gun.

He pulls the trigger, and the girl crumples.

Right between the eyes. Not bad for his first time.

Except this girl wasn't dead. Not like the others.

Well. She is now. But she wasn't before.

Before, she was holding her hands out to Tyler, begging him to help her.

Tyler had seen the water bottle in the side pocket of her backpack and hardly thought twice.

He was so _thirsty_.

The girl has nice, pretty blonde hair. It's turning red now that there's so much blood leaking from the wound on her face, trickling over her forehead and down her cheeks.

Tyler turns her over and goes for the water bottle first.

Empty.

He pulls the backpack from her shoulders, but it's so light he doubts there's much of anything inside.

Correcto.

One energy bar and a flashlight with dead batteries.

Tyler takes the items anyway, tossing them in his own pack. He takes the empty bottle, too, just in case.

Then he stands and stuffs the pistol in the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn't want to leave the girl in the middle of the road, where anyone could happen across her. Where roamers could find her and tear her open.

But the roamers will find her anyway - they're like vultures, carrion crows swooping down to devour blood and guts - so he steps over her and continues on.

About a mile down the road he sees a sign for South Hadley.

Only 700 miles to Columbus.

-

Tyler's cell phone still has 4 bars of energy left, but no one ever answers when he calls. Either he always gets voicemail or a busy signal from the start.

Most cell towers went down 48 hours into the outbreak.

Tyler was on a retreat with his Advanced Song Production class when it all started, out in the woods with no cell service whatsoever.

By the time the bus dropped them back off at campus everyone he knew at Berklee was either dead or a walker. His classmates followed quickly after.

He still tries every couple of miles, hoping to find service somewhere. He tries in a loop - Zack, Mom, Dad, Madison, his grandparents' house, Nick, Chris, Mark.

An endless beep beep beeping down the line.

It's enough to make him want to throw his phone to the ground, shoot it with the pistol he found in a barn on the outskirts of Boston County, depress the trigger until it clicks.

Or press the barrel past his lips and _bang_.

Be done with it. For real.

But he doesn't do any of that.

He stows his phone safely in his pocket and walks on.

-

He wishes he could walk through the night, but that wouldn't be very smart. You can't see roamers in the dark and with no street lights or passing cars he'd probably wind up in a ditch with a broken ankle or a sprained _something_.

So he goes as long as he can, until the sun is barely visible along the horizon. There's a motel not too far along on his right, which is a bad idea.

Heavily populated areas are to be avoided at all costs, which is why he took the circuitous route around Boston's inner city in the first place. But by the look of the place, Tyler doesn't think it was a popular rest stop before the outbreak. And after, it's likely no one decided to set up here permanently.

Still, it's better to err on the side of caution.

Tyler slips his knife from his pocket, a butcher's knife he grabbed from the dining hall back at Berklee on his way off campus. It's huge, which means it gets the job done, but that also means Tyler has a difficult time wielding it. He's getting better at it, but he definitely needs more practice. Or more upper body strength.

There's one car in the parking lot - a dusty old Sedan that's locked when Tyler tries the door. Rubbing a hand over the window and peering in, though, he doesn't see anything of use.

The car itself would aid him in closing quite a few miles between here and Ohio, but chances are the owner of the keys got bit and wandered far away from here. And Tyler doesn't know how to hot wire a car. That was not among the list of prerequisites when he applied for college.

His shoes crunch quietly on the dirty sidewalk outside of the check-in lobby, a dull _thump thump_ echoes when he taps the butt of his knife against the already-cracked door. He's mostly listening for noise from inside, but he also glances around the abandoned expanse of the motel's parking lot as well. It's been a day or two since he's seen a walker - he's due for some excitement soon.

A hoarse gurgle meets him at the door, but he waits. Making sure there's really only one of them.

Peering around the corner, he nudges the door open further with his foot.

A roamer is shambling toward him, jaw unhinged with great chunks of skin missing from its face. It's wearing some sort of uniform - the unlucky motel attendee on duty when the shit hit the fan.

Tyler ducks inside and sinks his knife to the hilt in the walker's neck, angling up to hit its brain stem. The dead weight, coupled with Tyler's inability to yank the knife back out quickly enough, has him stumbling backward with the corpse on top of him.

He lands with an _oomph_ , all the air knocked out of him. He vaguely hears the crinkle of the energy bar as it shatters into pieces in his backpack.

"Gross," he grunts, heaves the walker off of him and attempts to wipe his shirt of the gore that splattered on it. He gets most of it off, but he's still stained a nasty brownish-red color by the time he finishes searching the body.

No keys.

He grabs a pair off the wall, under a plaque labeled 117.

Warily, he heads back out and finds the corresponding room, unlocks the door and gives the room a cursory glance before entering.

No walkers in here.

And the room's still made up, how nice.

Tyler locks the door, throws his book bag on the bed, and heads into the bathroom.

The power still works in here. Harsh, fluorescent lights flicker on as he tries the shower. Two tiny droplets of water fall to the porcelain.

Didn't hurt to try.

In the medicine cabinet, he finds an old toothbrush and a stick of deodorant. He leaves the toothbrush and takes the deodorant.

Back in the main room, he turns the TV on and watches the static for all of two seconds before he creeps himself out and has to turn it off.

He wants to sleep with the light on, but that would just draw unnecessary attention, both from walkers and from people who might wish to rob Tyler or hurt him or worse.

So he draws the blinds and digs through his bag, unwraps the energy bar and eats the broken bits in the darkness.

With his phone on the nightstand, he lays down and digs the mashed up bits of food out of the crevices of his teeth with his tongue, mouth so parched he finds it hard to swallow.

He waits for his phone to ring and doubts he'll sleep tonight.

-

He must catch at least a few minutes because he's roused fitfully by a noise. There's no way to gauge how long he's been asleep because he didn't check his phone before he laid down and anyway he would never waste its precious battery life just to check something that doesn't even matter anymore.

The noise outside grows louder, and Tyler just lays there. He can't be sure what it is - it might just be a herd passing by. If he stays quiet enough they'll ignore him completely and he might be able to get a few more minutes of shut eye.

But the longer he lays there the louder and clearer the sound becomes. Voices.

It's been a week since Tyler's had any contact with another human. Any _real_ contact. He doesn't count the pretty blonde girl he gunned down on the freeway.

So he goes to the window and peers out of the blinds, sees nothing at first. An old grocery bag blowing along the cracked concrete of the parking lot.

Figures start to form as they come into view passing the check-in lobby. A group of men, maybe a few women. Tyler can't tell which or how many in the dark.

" _Someone's_ been here at least," a male voice says from inside the lobby. "There's a dead geek in here."

"Probably gone by now," a higher voice answers.

"Shit. I was lookin' forward to a fight. Ain't had one in a couple days."

If that wasn't enough to make Tyler start gathering his things, the way one of the newcomers brings their crowbar down on the passenger side window of the dusty Sedan sure as hell is. The glass shatters with a loud crash and the alarm starts blaring.

"Are you _crazy_?" Tyler mutters to no one, zips his backpack and grabs his pistol. Because there's no way he's going out there with just a knife in hand.

The people outside probably have a lot worse than guns on them anyway.

The group is far enough away that Tyler can crack the door without them noticing. They're distracted by the roamers that start to trickle out of the nearby cover of trees across the street.

Tyler ducks out and heads the opposite direction, finding himself at a fire escape that he climbs with ease. Perks of being what his father called 'a regular mountain climber' as a child. He hauls himself onto the roof and is halfway across when he realizes he doesn't have his phone.

All of a sudden his mind is back in room 117, on the nightstand. His heart rate picks up because he has to go back for it.

One of these days he's going to call Zack and his brother will pick up with a 'hey, Ty. Haven't heard from you in a while.' Or his call to Mark will finally go through and he'll say, 'Ty guy, what's crackalackin'?'

He _needs_ his phone.

Sneaking back to the edge of the roof, he sinks down onto his stomach and peers over the ledge.

The group has already reached his room, milling about outside the open door as more roamers shamble up to the motel.

There's a momentary scene of gore and viscera, blood and guts sprayed over the sidewalk. But Tyler is watching the doorway because someone's _in_ there with his phone. And when they walk out he sees the tiny block of light that means they're using it, maybe going through his contacts or playing Flappy Bird, Tyler doesn't know.

All Tyler knows is that the face illuminated by his phone - nose ring, smattering of dark facial hair, squinty eyes - is one he wants to punch. _Really_ hard.

But the guy holding his phone doesn't show anyone. One of his buddies calls to him from across the parking lot and he slips Tyler's phone in the back pocket of his jeans.

Tyler can't follow them. They aren't going toward Ohio and even if they were Tyler would never be stealthy enough so as to follow close behind and not get caught. His list of special skills is pretty narrow - writing songs and climbing things.

The group heads out of the motel parking lot, back the way Tyler came, making a racket.

Tyler turns over on the rooftop and stares at the stars, so bright now that there aren't as many city lights to block them out.

"Fuck you," he whispers, to the guy with the nose piercing and the dark hair. Except the guy is long gone and Tyler's not even halfway to Columbus.

-

He keeps his eyes peeled for another phone for a while after that.

The cell phone department turns up pretty much empty, save for a few iPhones he finds in the back pocket of some roamers he kills that are all dead.

He keeps them all anyway, backpack getting heavier.

Near the Boston line he finds this old colonial, dispatches three walkers inside. A family - two parents and a little boy. He drags their bodies into the living room because he can.

There's a landline in the kitchen that doesn't even beep when he picks it up. Just silence.

Tyler still sits at the kitchen table watching the phone for almost two hours. He's too wired to sleep, but too exhausted to do anything else.

Without his phone, he doesn't remember anyone's number. But he's positive if he waits long enough they'll call. Someone will. Someone he knows. Mom or Dad or Zack or Mark.

But they don't.

And he can't wait forever, you know? He has to keep going or he'll never get back to Ohio.

He checks in on the family in the living room, flies buzzing over their corpses in the sun-dappled light.

It's a nice afternoon, he decides as he leaves.

-

It's raining when he meets Josh.

As far as he can tell it's been about two weeks since the motel and he's crossed into New York by now.

He's on a little stretch of overgrown back road when the drops start to fall. Lightly at first, getting fatter the longer Tyler stands in the middle of the road.

He retrieves the pretty blonde girl's empty water bottle and holds it up, cranes his head back and sticks his tongue out. The last creek he came across was running red, probably a roamer had stumbled in and gotten stuck in the riverbed somewhere upstream. Tyler hadn't bothered to find out, just knew that he couldn't drink that water or else he'd get infected.

 _This_ water, however. This water is pure, sinking into Tyler's skin and pooling in his open mouth. He swills it around before he swallows, pushing it between the cracks of his teeth, then opens his mouth again.

He stands on that stretch of back road until his water bottle is nearly full. By then, he's soaked to the core and couldn't care less. He doesn't think he's ever been so happy to have a bottle full of water in his entire life.

Hunger - true hunger, the kind Tyler only felt after leaving Berklee, the kind that felt like starving as his ribs became more prominent and his face slimmed due to lack of food - is one of the worst things Tyler has ever experienced. But dehydration tops it.

As he continues on down the road he keeps his head tilted back, downing large gulps of rain as he goes, knowing that the downpour could stop any minute and his one measly bottle of water isn't going to last long after that.

With his head tilted back, he misses the guy that appears in front of him.

Which is stupid because anything could have popped out at him while he was lost in his own head, looking at the slate gray sky and not paying attention to anything else. A roamer could have caught him off guard. He could have a nice bite-sized chunk of skin missing from his face right now, like the geek back at the motel. He could be infected.

"Did you hear me?"

Tyler stops and flinches, fingers clenching around the water bottle. Half the water shoots up and out of it, like a geyser. He was _so_ not paying attention that by now he's only a few feet from the guy.

It's the guy from the motel.

Without noticing anything else about him, Tyler sees his dark hair and squinty eyes.

And then he sees _red_.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Tyler growls, and surges forward. With no other weapon handy, he swings the now half-empty water bottle at the guy, hitting him in the face.

The guy stumbles back and Tyler goes to hit him again, but the guy stops him with a hand on his arm. As much as he's loathe to admit it, he can't take the guy in a fist fight. He was already skinny to begin with. On top of not eating properly for the past few weeks to say this guy has the upper hand would be an understatement.

Slipping on the wet asphalt in their struggle, they both fall. Tyler's on top of the guy for a mere few seconds, swiping for his nose ring, before the guy flips them and pins Tyler's arms to the ground with his legs.

"What the hell is your problem?" The guy shouts, breathing hard.

"Give it back," Tyler mutters, beating at the guy's thighs uselessly. His crotch is in Tyler's face and it's _gross_.

The guy restrains his hands as well, holding tight to Tyler's flailing wrists. Tyler's water bottle - now empty again - is lying forgotten on the road a few feet away.

"You're delusional," the guy tells him. (if Tyler had a penny for every time he heard that) "You need to calm down before you bring a herd down on us."

" _No_ ," Tyler spits, trying to buck the guy off of him. But he's basically sitting on Tyler's chest, the bastard. "You have my phone."

The guy squints at him, tilts his head to the side a little. Then he releases Tyler's wrists and rolls off of him, gets to his feet to stand a ways away, where he's sure Tyler won't be able to catch him if he starts swinging again.

But Tyler doesn't even stand up, just sits on the wet ground getting wetter, if that's possible. His arms ache where the guy's shins dug in.

"That was you," the guy says. "You were at the motel, in that room?"

Tyler doesn't answer either way, just glares at the guy as the rain falls around them. "Just tell me you still have it."

The guy nods, reaches into his back pocket and extracts Tyler's phone. Tyler reaches for it and the guy walks forward just enough to be able to hand it to him. When Tyler has taken it, he retreats again.

Tyler taps his finger on the screen, presses all the buttons. The phone stays dark. Tears are welling up. "You killed it," Tyler moans. "You used it too much."

"Hardly. Just to check the time or the day sometimes. I couldn't get a signal anywhere. Don't tell me you could?"

Tyler shakes his head, climbing shakily to his feet. He brings his pack around and adds his dead phone to the others inside, hears them clacking around. He's not sure if the guy hears and he doesn't care. He zips his book bag back up and grabs his water bottle.

Then he continues down the road.

"Hey, where're you going?"

Tyler doesn't answer, but he hears the guy splashing along behind him.

"Dude, talk to me-"

"Leave me alone," Tyler tosses over his shoulder.

But the guy persists. "Look, you hit me across the face with a damn water bottle. The least you could do is apologize."

That makes Tyler stop, fingers inching toward the gun at his waist. He turns and really sees the guy for the first time. Sopping wet NASA T-shirt, a sleeve of tattoos down one arm, raggedy skate shoes. He's not carrying anything - no pack, no food, no weapons. There's a red mark on his cheek where Tyler hit him.

"Sorry," Tyler says petulantly.

The guy hums. "We'll get there. I'm Josh."

"Ty-"

"Tyler. I did at least get your name. From the phone."

"So you _did_ kill it."

"No." Josh sloshes through the water that's starting to stand around them. "Believe me, I did not kill your phone. It died on its own, I promise."

"But you said you went through it. Therefore, you contributed to its death."

Josh looks skyward, exasperated. A few drops of rain get caught in his beard. "I used it, yes. I tried to make a call or two, I snooped around a little…you really should have had a lock on it or something. But I didn't-"

Josh cuts himself off, staring behind Tyler. "We need to go."

Glancing back around, Tyler sees what Josh sees. A line of geeks coming down the road toward them, snarling and stumbling as more pile up behind them. The hard rain is sloughing their skin off their bones, making them look more gruesome than they already are.

Josh curls his arm around Tyler's bicep. "You should come with me."

Tyler does.

-

Josh leads him to a small house on the outskirts of Kingston.

Tyler follows him inside without a thought to the people he'd seen him with at the motel.

Until he sees the state of the place, loaded to the brim with weapons and ammo and food. Tyler's stomach rumbles when he sees a pile of Twinkies on the coffee table.

But his hand is itching for his gun again, remembering Josh's psycho friend from the motel and how he'd shattered that car window, just so he could kill the geeks that appeared afterward.

"What happened to your group? From the motel."

"We got separated." Josh goes to the window, making sure nothing followed them.

Tyler looks around a bit more, at an empty duffel bag on the floor, at a heavy shotgun on the mantelpiece. A glance into the dining room tells him it's empty, or at least seemingly so.

He frowns. "Weren't you heading somewhere else? When you left the motel you didn't come this way."

Josh turns from the window. "Yeah, Brendon was trying to get to Connecticut. He had family there. I'm from Columbus so I eventually just turned around."

Tyler's heart leaps. "I'm going to Columbus."

"Really?"

Tyler nods, hand no longer itching for his pistol. "I'm heading back to my family there."

"Well, damn." Josh looks nothing short of ecstatic, sitting in a chair by the table. "You want something to eat?"

Tyler nods again, doesn't even care that he has to move a rather formidable-looking AK out of the chair next to Josh's in order to sit. "I was eying your Twinkies, honestly."

Josh chuckles and hands him one. Tyler splits the package open and chows down zealously, getting cream all over his face and chin.

"Been a while, huh?" Josh asks. He's not eating.

"Mhm." Tyler wipes the cream from his face and licks it off his fingers. "Where'd you find all this?"

"On the road. It's a lot easier to scavenge when you have a group."

"But big groups bring herds down on you faster. They can smell when a lot of people are gathered together in one spot."

"That's why you keep the group big enough to protect yourselves, but small enough so as not to draw too much attention."

Tyler scoffs. "I guess that's why your buddy shattered that window, huh? Because he didn't want to _draw attention_."

Josh grimaces, but there's the faintest of smiles around his lips. "You saw that, huh?"

Tyler finishes the Twinkie and burps. His stomach is still grumbling. "Was kinda hard not to."

"I swear they were good guys," Josh says, and he looks wistful for half of a second. Then he's back to smiling. "You want something else? I have slightly healthier options - canned soups, pretzels, crackers."

"I've been living off nothing but crackers and chips from abandoned convenience stores for the past two weeks. We should have some soup."

So Josh grabs them two cans and uses what looks like a military-issued bayonet or something to cut the tops off. Tyler sees there's a lighter on the coffee table next to a pile of Reese's cups.

"Want me to start a fire?"

Josh shakes his head. "Nah. It'll be dark soon. Don't need to draw too much attention."

He hands one of the cans off to Tyler and they slurp in relative silence. Tyler finishes his before Josh is even halfway done.

He burps again. Josh laughs.

Tyler blushes, looking at Josh sheepishly. "…do you mind if I have something else? I'm really hungry."

"I can tell." Josh is talking about the speed with which he downed his soup, but also about something else. His eyes are roving over Tyler's body, from his thin legs to his chest to his gaunt face. He jerks his head toward the table of food. "Take your pick."

Tyler goes to his knees by the table, picks out another Twinkie, a mostly-brown apple, and a bag of truffles. He starts peeling the apple, but right before he's about to bite into it he stops and looks at Josh, who's staring at him intently. "Why are you sharing all of this with me?"

Josh shrugs, brings the can to his mouth. "Feel bad for taking your phone," he slurs around a mouthful of soup.

 _Good_ , Tyler thinks. But he just goes to town on his apple, then the Twinkie, then the entire bag of chocolates.

He hasn't been this full in forever.

-

He gets sick because his stomach has grown accustomed to being on empty for so long. All the sugar he ingested upsets him and nearly puts him over the edge.

Josh set out two sleeping bags for them on the living room floor, but Tyler feels so nauseous he kicks out of his and rolls around on top of it, moaning softly.

"Tyler," Josh warns quietly.

Outside, it's still raining. Lightning flashes, followed shortly by a loud clap of thunder.

Tyler whimpers and stills, squeezing his eyes shut. Great. Now he's scared _and_ pukey.

There's the rustling of Josh's sleeping bag and then a hand, warm and heavy, on Tyler's stomach.

He goes still, forgetting about the queasiness in his stomach for half a second. Josh is rucking his still-damp shirt up, putting his hand flat on Tyler's skin.

Tyler feels self-conscious, mostly because he knows Josh can feel how his stomach dips in, even after shoving it full of food. There's a shortage of non-shattered mirrors in the apocalypse, but Tyler has caught enough glimpses of himself in car windows and the reflection of store fronts to know that he doesn't look healthy.

"Is this okay?" Josh asks.

And Tyler doesn't _know_ , because he doesn't know Josh. He doesn't want to let a total stranger lay here with him and rub his stomach because that's weird, right?

But it feels _good_ , especially when Josh starts rubbing in a slow, circular motion.

Tyler exhales shakily and even though he never gave Josh a straight answer, Josh doesn't move his hand.

"My mom always told me to rub counter-clockwise, and that worked for me."

It's working for Tyler too, finally relaxing on top of his sleeping bag.

Josh's hand continues to work and Tyler doesn't tell him to stop even after the urge to throw up goes away.

Eventually he does anyway, though, assuming Tyler to be asleep. He takes his hand back and turns over, away from Tyler.

Staring at the dark ceiling, Tyler finally falls asleep and stays that way for quite some time.

-

Considering they're both going to Columbus it's a given that they'll travel together, at least for the time being. They don't even discuss it, rising early and packing everything up.

But not before Josh plies him with another Twinkie.

"You know you want it," he taunts, waving it in front of Tyler's face.

He _really_ doesn't. "Dude, I never wanna see another Twinkie ever again."

He does, however, take a bag of crackers and eat them slowly as they pack, settling his stomach further and making sure he at least has enough energy to get through the day.

They set out while the sun's still high in the sky. Without his phone, Tyler can't be sure exactly what time it is. Not that it matters or that he'd use his phone's precious battery to check it. Like Josh did. But it would be nice to know that he could, had he wanted to.

Tyler's carrying his backpack, chock full of snacks on top of the dead phones he's unwilling to let go. He hoped Josh wouldn't ask why he was only able to fit a few food items in his bag, if he wasn't carrying much else. But he doesn't.

Josh has also loaned him a slimmer knife, one he can use more easily. Slung across Tyler's chest is the AK-47, should he need it. He still holds tight to his pistol, though.

Josh himself is carrying the large duffel with most of the food and the rest of their weapons in it, as well as his shotgun.

Tyler has never felt more formidable.

He knocks his pistol against the AK at his chest. "Where'd you get all the weapons anyway?"

"We raided a military camp in Medford, right after the infection hit."

"What were you doing in Boston if you live in Columbus?"

Ahead of them, a long stretch of road looms.

"I was on tour with my band. We were actually playing a show the night everything went to shit."

Josh chuckles fondly, but Tyler averts his eyes, all of a sudden very embarrassed and very sorry he even asked.

Before Josh can ask him why he was in Boston, he says, "That's cool. What was the name of your band?"

"Vessel," Josh says, and Tyler knows them. They had a few hits on the radio, especially on the local alternative station at Berklee.

"So I'm traveling with a rock star. That's sick."

Josh laughs, and veers off to take care of a walker shuffling toward them through the grass.

When he returns, Tyler is sure he's going to forget what they were talking about. But Tyler's never been that lucky.

"How about you?"

Tyler plays dumb, even though he's just prolonging the inevitable. "Hm?"

"Why were you in Boston?"

Tyler's stomach plummets. He's wanted to get into music for the past few years. When he told people, they were…less than enthusiastic about his choice. His parents and his siblings were supportive, but of course there were people who told him he should go to college and get a real job. Others, some of his friends who were already steeped in the Columbus music scene, said he should forget college altogether and just start a band, start making music and getting his shit out there as quickly as possible.

Tyler doesn't know if he made the right decision.

"I was in school. For music, actually. Berklee College of Music. Songwriting major."

To Josh, already on tour with his songs being played on the radio, this must seem pretty stupid.

That's what he's waiting for, for Josh to scoff and ask why he decided to go to school in the first place. 'If you wanted to make music, you should have just done it,' is what Josh says in his mind.

"That's cool," is what Josh actually says. "What year were you?"

"I'm a… _was_ a Junior."

"So did you want to do your own thing or did you want to be in a band?"

"I…" Tyler's shaking his head, staring at the ground instead of where they're going. "I wanted to be in a band, I guess. I wanted to write the best music I could and put on the best show anyone's ever seen. Delusions of grandeur and all that."

"Hey, that's not a bad thing to strive for." Josh stops walking, and Tyler does too. "You probably could have done it too, if all this hadn't happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not like anyone's gonna be making music any time soon. People can hardly fend for themselves these days let alone pick up a guitar and write a song. It'll be a long time before things go back to normal, if they ever do."

Tyler scoffs. "But everyone in Columbus is still alive. Everyone _I_ know, I mean. If they're alive then everything will be fine. Eventually."

Josh gives him this look, the same look his mom used to give him when he was only 9 and started talking about death.

_Why do I remember that?_

"Tyler, I-"

"Did you play guitar?" Tyler cuts him off, anxiety bubbling up inside him.

Josh pauses, then starts walking again. "No. Drums."

"I can see that. I took a couple ukelele classes at Berklee. Can't claim that I'm any good, but yeah. It was fun."

After a while, they're talking normally again, headed across the Southern part of New York toward Pennsylvania.

But Tyler can't stop thinking about that look Josh gave him, the feeling he had that he'd said something terribly wrong.

-

"How old are you?"

"28. You?"

Tyler's jaw drops, and he almost lets go of the bottle of soda he's holding.

"I'm 21." He was held back in fifth grade. Ms. Short claimed it was because of his grades. Tyler knows it was because he wouldn't stop getting in fist fights.

Josh doesn't see anything wrong with this, just hums and hops over the counter.

They're in a small shack in the middle of nowhere, a tiny break shop where you could buy snacks and bait for fishing on your way to the nearby lakes.

Tyler can't stop thinking about Josh being 28. When he was 17, Josh was 24. Their relationship would have been illegal.

Not that they're in a relationship now, but…he thinks about it.

He joins Josh near the counter, grabs a fistful of Slim Jims off a display that wobbles precariously.

Josh finds what looks to be an old fridge, no longer running. He pulls open the lid labeled LIVE BAIT and a rancid smell fills the building. Josh yanks the collar of his T-shirt up, coughing, as Tyler gags and all but throws himself back outside.

Josh joins him a few seconds later, doubling over as he vomits into a tiny patch of daffodils on the side of the road.

"Why would you open that?" Tyler gasps, taking great mouthfuls of air into his lungs. He can still smell the death.

"I don't know, honestly." Josh wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was a lot of dead worms."

 _What if they weren't dead?_ Tyler wants to ask.

"Can we go? I got a couple sodas and a few Slim Jims."

"Yeah. There was a gun behind the counter so I grabbed that, too." Josh brandishes the old-fashioned gun before unshouldering his duffel, letting the gun clatter against the rest of the weapons they hardly use. He comes to stand beside Tyler. "Hand me a pop?"

The sodas are old-fashioned, too, Pepsi-Cola in glass bottles that you have to pop the tops off of instead of unscrewing. Josh uses his knife to uncap his, reaching over to do Tyler's next.

There is no fizz and when Tyler brings the bottle to his lips he can taste the soda's flat.

But he still clinks his bottle with Josh's when Josh offers, and they continue down the road.

-

His grandpa died when he was nine.

Tyler thinks that was when it started.

The church was all white and gold, stained-glass windows casting a dark purple splotch on Tyler's hand while the priest gave his sermon. Tyler remembers that his parents cried a lot, Zack even let a few tears slip, and Madison was just a baby so she definitely cried. Just not for the right reasons.

Tyler didn't cry.

He stared at that purple splotch on his hand until it was time to view the body.

The open casket greeted his parents, then loomed up before Tyler. His dad had to get back in line and nudge him forward because he wasn't moving.

But Tyler didn't know what he was expected to do. Pray?

Why would he pray for someone who wasn't dead?

His grandfather was _not_ dead, just…asleep or something. He was being all tricksy, pretending to be asleep or dead while everyone cried for him.

Tyler wasn't fooled, he knew his grandpa would get up sooner or later.

And even after the crowd left the church and congregated at the graveyard. Even as Tyler saw the casket being lowered into the ground, he knew Grandpa Jack would be up and at it again soon.

The undertaker started to shovel great mounds of dirt on top of Grandpa Jack's casket.

Tyler looked around at all the somber faces, all the black and all the tears.

"If he puts too much on, grandpa won't be able to get back out," Tyler whispered.

No one heard him.

And Grandpa Jack never woke back up.

-

Somewhere around Scranton, they find a cellar full of alcohol.

Tyler's never been a big drinker, picks up a bottle of Jack Daniels and shines his flashlight at it. He found a couple of batteries at an abandoned movie theater just across the Pennsylvania line and ever since then he and Josh have spent their nights in odd houses telling scary stories and making funny faces in the light.

Tyler's not too proud to admit that some of Josh's stories actually terrified him, so that he had to sleep extra close to Josh those nights.

Back in the cellar, Josh is acting like it's Christmas. He grabs some sort of clear alcohol from a shelf and shouts.

Tyler wants to continue on because the sun hasn't fully set yet. Josh wants to stick around and "celebrate," whatever that means.

In Tyler's mind, there's nothing _to_ celebrate. They still have 500 miles between here and Columbus. When they finally get home, then they can celebrate.

"Dude. There's so much booze here. When's the last time you got trashed?"

 _Never_ , Tyler thinks.

He shrugs, glancing at Josh, who now has another bottle in hand.

"Exactly. And we probably won't be able to any time in the near future so we should stay here tonight, get totally fucked up, sleep it off, and then get on with it in the morning." He points one of the bottles at Tyler. "Whaddaya say?"

Tyler says they should get moving. If Josh wants to take a few bottles with them for the road, that's fine by him. But they shouldn't stay here, not while it's still light out. And not while they're surrounded by so much liquor.

"I guess we can stay." _If it'll make you happy._

Josh shouts again.

They lean against the cool stone wall of the cellar on their sleeping bags, propping their flashlights on a stack of boxes across the room, so they can at least see what they're doing.

Tyler hates the burn down the front of his chest now the same way he did when he was sixteen and had his first drink. He wishes they at least had something to chase it with.

But Josh is quick to get plastered, polishing off a tiny bottle of whiskey before moving on to a handle of vodka. His ankle is hooked around Tyler's, leaning against him as he regales him with tales from his tour bus.

It's nice for Tyler to listen to Josh talk, about the time someone tried to go number two in the bus toilet or about the time Ryan lost his Xbox cable and someone brought him one backstage at a show, while he grows more and more relaxed, light and bubbly.

Past the point of burning his throat and making him throw up when he's had too much, Tyler loves alcohol. It relaxes him, stops the racing in his head. It doesn't make him feel alive because not much does, but he finds that it allows him to let go. Of things.

Eventually he's as drunk as Josh, though perhaps not as giddy.

Josh is practically falling all over himself, and Tyler too, making these little hiccupy noises and giggling at everything.

"'N then Pete tried t'open the Lucky Charms 'n they went _everywhere_." Josh splays his hands wide, hitting Tyler in the nose while he's at it. "Oh, sorry, dude."

Reaching over, Josh brushes a flimsy hand down Tyler's face. Bottle halfway to his lips, Tyler's cheeks warm from something other than the booze.

"Hey, tell me somethin'." Josh turns to face him, twirling on his sleeping bag and catching himself with a hand on Tyler's shoulder before he falls over.

Tyler hums. "Like what?"

"Like anything. Y'r pretty quiet."

Tyler wishes people would realize that - maybe - when someone's quiet it means they have nothing to say.

"'N don' tell me you got nothin' t' say."

That makes Tyler laugh, one of his loud shaky laughs. Josh topples forward and puts a hand over Tyler's mouth, shushing him.

But they're in a cellar and Josh has been laughing for the past hour. If any geeks were going to have heard them they'd have done it by now.

When Josh's hand slides from his lips, down his chin, Tyler sets his bottle down.

"Before I met you, before the motel, there was this girl. She was really pretty, with this long blonde hair and glowy skin." Tyler pauses, unsure if he wants to continue. But he does. "She startled me, she came out of the woods so fast. She needed my help, I think. I'm not sure, but she had her hands up. I shot her. Because I saw she had a water bottle in her backpack and I was so thirsty. But when I took it out it was empty. And I still think about her. About her blonde hair and her pretty eyes and the way the blood soaked into her hair. I dream about her sometimes…"

Tyler is positive this is not what Josh meant. Josh wanted Tyler to tell him about something from before, something from when Tyler was at school or when he was a kid playing with Zack and Madison. Something happy. But that was the first thing Tyler thought of and he wasn't even sure he wanted to share it.

He just did.

Gentle hands are at his jaw, pulling his head up. Josh's eyes are dark and unfocused. He's _so_ drunk.

"That wasn't y'r fault," he says, and when he speaks Tyler can smell the alcohol on his breath.

Pushing at Josh's wrists, Tyler tries to pull away. "Yes, it is. I killed her."

But Josh is insistent, fingers strong on Tyler's chin even as he sways drunkenly back and forth. "No. Y'were thirsty. It was a mistake. Right?"

Tyler doesn't answer, but it doesn't matter. Josh is pulling him forward, halfway onto his lap, as he presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of Tyler's mouth.

This seems to make Josh even more inebriated, slumping against Tyler and nibbling at his lower lip.

For Tyler, the kiss wakes him up, brings him out of the haze the alcohol has left over him, out of the haze of death that surrounds him. He finds that he wants more, pressing Josh back and against the wall.

Josh, however, has gone limp. Tyler pulls back, face flushed. "Josh?"

"Hrm?" It's more just a noise than an actual answer, to show that Josh can hear him. He's about to fall asleep, Tyler realizes. He changes his question.

"Josh, you won't forget this when you wake up, right?"

Josh cracks an eye open. "'course not. How could I? Been wantin' t' do that for…"

He never says how long he's wanted to kiss Tyler, because his head thunks back against the wall and he starts to snore.

Tyler is back to his morose self, shuffling Josh around so that he's lying on his sleeping bag. He lays down next to him, pillows his head on Josh's chest.

He feels gross. Because he never told Josh the most important part of the story.

Never told him that maybe shooting the girl _hadn't_ been an accident, that she looked more alive after Tyler shot her than she had in those few seconds Tyler had seen her alive.

Or that sometimes he thinks of Josh like that, dead on the side of the road with maggots crawling in and out of his eye sockets.

That they could have been dead together.

-

Josh doesn't forget that they kissed.

Tyler wakes before him and starts gathering their things, flashlight batteries dead from where Tyler forgot to turn them off last night after Josh passed out.

A bit of sun streams in through the dusty window just above ground level, and Tyler's mouth feels like cotton because of the booze. Luckily he doesn't have a headache.

As he's opening a package of muffins, strong arms wrap around him from behind.

He doesn't even flinch, feels Josh press his warm face against the back of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. Neither of them has had a proper bath in weeks, but that doesn't matter. Not really.

"Told you I wouldn't forget," Josh mutters, beard tickling Tyler's neck.

Tyler can't help but chuckle. "Can you blame me for asking? You were super drunk. I'm surprised you even remember that question."

Josh nips at his earlobe so Tyler offers him a piece of muffin to chew on instead.

But Josh groans, declines the food by way of pressing his face against Tyler's shoulder. Hungover.

"You wanna stay here for a bit?" Tyler asks, pops the muffin in his mouth instead.

"No," Josh sighs and steps back. When Tyler turns he sees just how disheveled Josh is - hair askew, clothes all twisted, eyes half-lidded and droopy.

"Why not?"

"Because I promised you we'd get out of here as soon as we finished celebrating." Josh gives a bright smile. "And it looks like we _definitely_ did that."

Other than Josh's double entendre, they don't talk about the kiss. Tyler feels much the same about it as he did about the morning they set out together, after the rain. Like it was meant to happen.

-

"I spy something green."

Tyler grins. "The grass."

"Nope."

"The leaves."

"Nu-uh."

Making a face, Tyler glances around. "That car."

"Try again."

Maybe there's a walker around wearing something green. But the street's deserted, save for them and the abandoned green car. "I give up."

Josh sidles up close to him. "You sure?"

Tyler looks around, then nods.

Reaching out, Josh pokes him in the side, gently.

Tyler looks down and sees a green stain on his shirt, most likely from when Josh took a tumble down that hill a few miles back. Tyler had hurried to him asking if he was okay, but Josh had just laughed and pulled him down, kissed him breathless.

Tyler rolls his eyes. "That's _technically_ grass. Cheater."

Josh shakes his head, reels Tyler in with an arm around his shoulders and kisses him again.

That's all Tyler wants to do anymore is kiss Josh. If he weren't still so obsessed with getting back to Columbus, he might do it too. Set up shop in someone's house and kiss Josh for hours, for days, for weeks.

Until there was no more air left in his lungs, until they wasted away with each other.

Until they were both dead.

-

They lose the road in Pittsburgh, an overturned tractor trailer sending them off to another side street. This makes Tyler anxious and Josh knows, so he takes his hand and squeezes as they hop the guardrail.

Tyler smiles, for Josh's sake. But they're losing so much _time_.

When the sun goes down they find a random house as always, and clear it of any geeks inside.

There's only one - trapped in the kitchen between the back door and a pet gate.

Josh drives his knife into its skull and lets it fall. That's when Tyler sees another knife, this one on the floor, covered in dried blood. In fact, the whole floor is covered in brownish-red gore.

The walker Josh killed has weird wounds on its wrists, skin flaying off the insides.

"What's-" Tyler cuts himself off, even as Josh is stepping back over the gate, trying to usher Tyler back toward the foyer, trying to save him from seeing. But it's too late. "She killed herself."

"You don't have to look at that, Ty." Josh's hand is warm on his shoulder, pushing him toward the stairs.

But it's too late, you see. Because Tyler already looked, he already _saw_.

The master bedroom is vacant and Tyler sits on the bed as soon as they enter, head in his hands. Josh sets his duffel on the floor and comes to sit next to him, lays a hand between his shoulder blades.

That makes Tyler's body feel good, grounded, even while his head is a million miles away, swimming through corpses.

Josh leans in and noses at his jaw, his ear, tongue fluttering against the side of his neck. "Tell me something," he mutters, breath ghosting out and over Tyler's collarbone.

"One time," Tyler starts, surprised at the giant lump in his throat. He coughs, tries again. "One time when Madison was a toddler, Zack and I took her out to the backyard. We were trying to make her say things. Bad things, like cuss words, because we thought it was funny. She almost even said the 'F' word. And when Mom found us she grounded us both for three weeks."

He's even further surprised to find that he's smiling at the memory, at Madison's bouncing blonde curls as her tiny baby teeth formed an F over her chubby bottom lip. At Zack's wide eyes as he urged her on. At their mother's bewildered expression when she realized what they were doing.

Even though now they're all-

Josh laughs, more warm air gusting over Tyler's upper chest. It makes Tyler whine, turning to throw his arms around Josh's shoulders and pressing his lips to Josh's cheek. But he still has his backpack on so Josh tugs at the strap. "Here, let me-"

Tyler disentangles himself from the backpack, but he doesn't see that it's come half unzipped. Josh tosses it to the floor while Tyler's trying to attack him with his mouth.

The book bag topples over and the food they've gathered tumbles out, as well as Tyler's dead flashlight. Then come the phones, the dead ones Tyler has been collecting since this started. They clatter on the floor, sliding out one after the other. The last one he sees skid to a halt on the hard wood floor is his own.

Tyler wishes the bed would swallow him whole. He wishes he'd never come here, wishes he'd never met Josh.

Because the look on Josh's face makes him _sick_. "Tyler?"

"No," Tyler moans, stomach roiling. He's sliding from the bed, even as Josh's hands try to pull him back. He's gathering the phones, trying to stuff them all back in because Josh can't see, can't know how crazy he is. "No, no, no. They're all dead."

"Tyler, what is all that?"

It seems like no matter how many of the phones he puts back in his pack, more fall out and Tyler can't speak.

"Ty, talk to me."

But Tyler's shaking, hands spasming so bad he can't get a grip. Josh is there, off the bed, holding his wrists still.

Tyler writhes, twisting away, and he always knew Josh was strong, but he's still surprised at how easily he holds Tyler in place.

"Stop," Tyler whimpers, tucks his chin toward his chest. "They're dead, they're dead, I know they're dead. But it doesn't matter, because _I'm dead too_."

Time stops, dust motes suspended around them. Outside, a bird chirps.

"Oh, Tyler."

Tears form at the corners of his eyes and he blinks them away furiously, but they're replaced quickly, rolling down his grimy cheeks.

" _Tyler_ ," Josh gasps, and Tyler feels himself being gathered into Josh's lap, folded up and tucked neatly against Josh's chest with Josh's arms around him.

Hiccuping, Tyler can barely speak. But he does, under his breath, where he thinks Josh can't hear him. "I'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdeadI'mdead-"

"You're not." Josh's voice quavers, like he doesn't know if those are the next words in the script.

Tyler knows the script like the back of his hand, has had it memorized for years. He'll never forget.

"I'm _dead_ ," he says emphatically. "I've been dead for years, but _everyone's_ dead now - you've seen it. The walkers came up from underground like I always knew they would. I knew no one really died because we've all been dead since…for a long time."

Tyler knows it doesn't make much sense, because his mom explained it to him a long time ago. We're all born, Tyler, so how could everyone be dead? How can you be dead if you never died?

I just _am_. And now everyone else is, too. Now everyone can see it. Now Josh can see it.

Except when Tyler looks at Josh…when Tyler looks at Josh he sees life. And sometimes he has to _make_ himself think of Josh like everyone else, as dead. _Make_ himself think of those maggots crawling out of his eye sockets, of the blood pooling around his dark hair.

"I'm so sorry. Now you know. Now you know that's how it is. That's how it has to be."

Josh doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Then he sort of hefts Tyler in his arms. "I've…known for a while."

Tyler looks up, licking at his upper lip, where some of his tears have pooled.

Josh's expression is intense, gaze fixed on the tear tracks streaking Tyler's cheeks. "I've known…since we met. That something was wrong with you. When I said I didn't kill your phone, that was only half the truth. It died on its own, but before that I told you I did some snooping. I knew, Tyler. I read some of your old texts to your parents and your friends. I knew something was up with you, I just didn't know exactly what."

Tyler thought that would make him feel disgusting, Josh saying something was wrong with him. But it doesn't, because Tyler already knew something was wrong with him. The shrinks told him, his parents told him, even Zack tried to tell him. Not in bad ways or ways that would make him feel bad, but they were just trying to _teach_ Tyler. That he was wrong, that death only happened to people who died, not healthy living people like them.

"But you're not dead, Tyler." Josh leans forward and thunks his forehead against Tyler's. He takes Tyler's hand and puts it on his chest. "You feel that?"

Tyler can. His heart, beating fast and thudding against his ribcage. His lungs expand with every breath he takes and he can flex his fingers as much as he wants. Dead people can't do that.

"I feel it," Tyler sighs. "You think I'm crazy."

"No. I could never think you're crazier than anyone else. I just want you to _see_ , y'know? That you're alive."

"I feel alive when I kiss you," Tyler admits, voice rough.

Josh doesn't hesitate, tips Tyler's chin up just enough to press their lips together, hard and biting. Tyler is drowning and Josh's mouth is the only thing that can breathe any air into his lungs.

But before that.

He presses away from Josh with his hands on Josh's broad chest. "I do have to tell you something."

Josh nods. "I'm listening." He's breathless, and that makes Tyler smile. decay

"Sometimes…sometimes I see you like them. Like the roamers. You don't walk around, but you've been rotting for a while. Your hair is falling out and your eyes are gone. Not all the time, because most of the time when I look at you, in person, like right now, you're so much more alive than anyone else I've ever met. You were in a band and you were making music and you were doing what you wanted to do and it was like you didn't give a fuck what anyone thought of you. And I was so different, all dead and decaying inside, because I care what _everyone_ thinks of me, all the time. And I think it would be so much easier if we were dead together-"

And all of a sudden he's crying again, blubbering into Josh's T-shirt.

Josh is shushing him, not even batting an eye at Tyler's story about him being dead. "You're not dead, Tyler. You're not. Please believe me. You're not dead and you're never going to be. Because I'm gonna keep you safe. I mean…we all have to die some day. But I'm not saying that day is going to be any time soon. You and I are gonna grow old and kill zombies together 'til the day we die."

Josh doesn't mention what's going to happen when they get back to Columbus, what will happen when they find their families and have to go their separate ways. Maybe they won't have to, though. Maybe they _could_ stay together. Forever.

"I have to ask, though - why all the phones?"

Tyler glares at his backpack. "I expected someone to call. They're all dead, but I expected Zack to call. Or Madison. Maybe even my friend Mark." He sniffs, shakes his head. "Crazy."

He feels Josh kiss the top of his head, silent. Half an hour later they're in bed, curled around each other under the sheets because it's too hot for the covers. They're kissing lazily and every time Tyler feels Josh's mouth under his he comes alive, face flushing and fingers twitching.

They stay like that throughout the night, until the sun rises once more.

-

They're almost in Ohio when they come across a river. A proper river, the water running clear as it skips over the rocks with no trace of infection.

Josh doesn't want to chance drinking from it so they keep their water bottles half full, but that doesn't mean they can't bathe and wash their clothes before heading on.

Tyler lays his shirt, sopping wet, stretched out over a big gray rock and then splashes in after Josh. The water comes up to their waists, so Tyler sits and leans his head back, lets the water rush through his hair. He's not used to having it this long, haircuts few and far between in the zombie apocalypse.

Even Josh's hair, which was cut into a faux hawk when Tyler first saw him, has grown out on the sides. It makes him look like some weird Scottish sheep dog.

He says as much.

"Okay, Hippie McHipster Pants," Josh fires back, splashing him.

"What?" Tyler splutters, grinning as he tries to defend himself from Josh's attack.

"You're making fun of me, meanwhile you look like you walked straight outta Woodstock."

Tyler runs a hand through his wet hair, thinking. "I have an idea."

Back near the rocks they hid their packs and weapons down in a crevasse, so Tyler goes to retrieve his knife. It's probably not as sharp as Josh's bayonet, but it's also not as big.

It allows Josh to shave Tyler's head closer to the scalp, and with more finesse. Tyler sits in the river and watches the strands float away downstream, shivers at the way Josh runs his hands through the hair left behind, fingers grazing his head.

Then Josh sits and Tyler chops the sides of his hair off again. He sees up close that Josh's hair isn't jet black, like it always looked. When the sun catches it it gives off glints of brown and even red in some places.

"Well, it's kinda lopsided because they didn't offer Advanced Haircutting at Berklee-" Josh snorts "-but it'll do."

With a hand at Tyler's waist, Josh pulls him down into the surging water. Their legs tangle atop the riverbed, displacing small stones and mashing into the sand. Tyler keeps the knife above water so it doesn't rust.

"How do you feel today?" Josh asks. Tyler feels him run a wet hand over his shoulder blade and down the center of his back.

He doesn't know how to tell Josh that, despite his best efforts, he still feels all rotten inside. There are flies in his belly and cobwebs in his throat.

Tyler shrugs. "I'm good." He throws his arms around Josh's shoulders, holding the knife away. "Tell me something?"

Josh _hm_ s for a few seconds, then opens his mouth. But before he says anything Tyler sees something moving behind him, along the line of trees.

"Hey, isn't that-"

It looks like one of the guys Josh had been traveling with at the motel. Tyler cuts himself off because he realizes he doesn't know any of their names, not by their faces.

According to Josh after the infection broke out he and his bandmates, Brendon and Pete, started traveling with the other guys they were on tour with and eventually met up with a few more people along the way. So Tyler has no idea who the guy in the woods is, just that if he traveled with Josh he must be a stand up guy, right? Because of all the stand up guys Tyler has ever met, Josh is the stand uppiest.

Josh is out of the water before Tyler can even take another breath, tugging at Tyler's wrist. "We have to go."

Tyler is reminded of the first time he met Josh, on that road with the rain and the walkers, the way Josh's eyes had bugged out of his head before he led Tyler back to his hideout. Tyler is confused, letting Josh lead him back to their belongings, but still looking over his shoulder at the opposite side of the riverbank.

"What's wrong, Josh?" Even as he asks, Josh is scrambling back into his clothes and throwing Tyler's pants at him.

"We can't stay here right now."

Tyler's disappointed, because he'd been having an awful lot of fun in the water with Josh. But if Josh says they can't stay then they shouldn't. "But _why_?"

"Just trust me, Tyler. I can explain later-"

A rustling in the bushes has them both turning, Tyler raising his knife and Josh going for his shotgun. Before he can reach it, though, a boy appears.

He can't be any older than Tyler, skinny, with feminine features and wearing what appears to be eyeliner. Tyler wonders where he got that.

"Hello, _Josh_ ," the boy says, saccharine sweet. He has a gun, pointed in their direction.

"Ryan."

So this is Ryan.

But Tyler can't figure out why that smell is in the air, like copper. Like Ryan wants to hurt them.

Ryan is advancing, pressing them back toward the river. "Figured we'd find you eventually. Don't know why you thought you could run away from us and not get caught."

 _Because you were going the other way_ , Tyler wants to say. _Toward Connecticut._

But he keeps his mouth shut, for now.

"We don't have to do this," Josh says, slowly. "You can let us walk away, we'll go our separate ways. No one has to get hurt."

"Oh, like last time?" Ryan laughs, high and shrill. Tyler glances around to make sure the sound doesn't draw any walkers. "No, no. We're taking back what you took from us. And anything else you have to give…your boy toy will do nicely."

Tyler doesn't duck behind Josh, even though he wants to. The way Ryan is looking at him makes him feel sick, but he won't leave Josh to protect both of them all on his own. Besides, Tyler's the only one of them with a weapon right now.

"You're not gonna hurt him. And you aren't taking our shit."

Ryan stops moving, very suddenly. His upper lip raises in a sneer and he whistles loudly.

Two more guys and a girl emerge from the brush and as Tyler's looking around for an exit, he sees at least five others on the other side of the river, back where he saw the first guy in the trees.

"You really can't get out of this alive if you plan on fighting." Ryan cocks the gun. "Now move outta the way."

Already the girl - dark hair and a pointed nose - is going through their bags.

Tyler's foot finally reaches the water, splashing in as he stumbles and soaking his shoe.

"Tyler, run."

"What?"

"Run, now!"

Tyler can't quite comprehend what Josh is saying to him. Why would Tyler leave him? But he has the presence of mind to pass his knife to Josh before turning and wading back into the water. If he's fast enough he can possibly take a diagonal route to the opposite shore, head into the trees and away from Josh's former group.

But they're faster than he is, jumping into the river and sloshing toward him.

Tyler turns back and sees that Josh is following him, preceded shortly by Ryan. Ryan hasn't fired the gun yet and Tyler can't quite figure out why, just that that works in their favor.

With the water bubbling around them Tyler can't keep an eye on Ryan and listen for the other half of the company behind him at the same time. Which is why someone's able to grab ahold of Tyler's elbow before he even notices they're beside him.

He yelps and turns, finds a guy with dark hair and tattoos. Similar to Josh, but not Josh at all. This guy is tan with a scrunched up face. Josh is all smooth, pale skin and the most beautiful face Tyler has ever been blessed to lay eyes on.

Without his knife, Tyler lashes out with a fist and clocks the guy in his jaw. Though the guy grunts in pain, it hardly even makes him reel backward. He has a gun, one he presses to Tyler's temple as he twists Tyler's arm behind his back.

Tyler gives another yelp, a burning starting in his shoulder and inching its way down his arm.

Josh is stuck between Ryan and his droogs on the shore, and this guy, holding Tyler hostage, and his posse wading further into the river. Still, he turns halfway to Tyler, readying the knife like he's about to throw it.

"I wouldn't," the guy growls, presses the gun harder against Tyler's head. Tyler whimpers because it _hurts_. Not because he's afraid to die.

Josh keeps the knife raised, expression twisting into something Tyler's never seen on him before. "Let him go."

Behind him, Tyler feels the guy do something. Shrug, maybe. Then he says, "Suit yourself," and dunks Tyler underwater.

Only he doesn't let him go. He holds a hand at the base of Tyler's skull, the other probably extending the gun toward Josh. But Tyler can't tell because all he can see is the murky riverbed, becoming murkier as his vision blurs. His lungs burn and he can't think, his head feels ready to explode.

He's never felt more alive.

Just as he thinks he's about to pass out the pressure on the back of his neck diminishes. As much as he strangely relished the intense burning sensation in his chest he remembers Josh.

When he emerges, his vision is blurry. There look to be more figures in the water now, and on both sides of the riverbank. There's the sound of gunshots and someone yells, "Biters!"

And Tyler can't keep himself upright, dizzy as he is. He falls back into the water with flooded lungs.

When he wakes up the sun is in his eyes and he's choking on water, spitting up as his body expels the river from his chest. He's on solid ground, warm rocks digging into the small of his back. There are hands at his waist, pulling at something.

"Jo-osh?" Tyler coughs, pressing his hands down toward his hips.

Someone else's hands hit his away, hard. That's _not_ Josh.

Tyler panics, burning everywhere. The hands become more insistent and Tyler realizes they're pulling at his pants, but he can't fight them off. He feels weak and he's still spitting up water every now and then. Whenever he tries to ball his hands into fists and punch the person, they grunt and push him away.

Eventually they land a solid hit to the side of Tyler's face and he whites out for a second, bells ringing in his ears.

He comes to just as he sees a figure with dark hair and a NASA T-shirt swing a crowbar at the guy. There's a dull _whump_ as the crowbar connects with the back of his head and the guy slumps forward, on top of Tyler. Tyler wants to throw up, pushing feebly at the guy's shoulders.

Josh rolls the guy off with the toe of his shoe, leaving Tyler free to wriggle over and get on his hands and knees on the sandy ground, heaving up the rest of the water in his stomach and lungs.

But Josh is hooking an arm under his elbow, heaving him up. "We gotta go, Ty."

From back near the river Tyler can hear screams and gunshots and then more screams. He doesn't wait to find out who from Ryan's group is currently being eaten alive by walkers, just lets Josh pull him to his feet as they hurry away from the river.

-

They run for miles, Tyler's vision slowly returning to normal. His shoulder starts to burn again when the adrenaline wears off, so he cradles his arm against his chest. Josh is limping and his pants leg is red with blood.

Tyler tries to stop him multiple times, so they can take a look at it, but Josh urges him on. He wants to put as much distance between themselves and Ryan's group in as little time as possible, which Tyler understands.

An abandoned barn greets them just over the Ohio line. Tyler can't even bring himself to be happy about the progress they've made as he closes the giant wood door and scans the place for walkers. Nothing.

Josh slumps against the nearest wooden beam, letting out an agonized moan. Tyler drops to his knees, grabbing Josh's bloody pants leg and making to roll it up.

"No!" Josh shouts, yanks his leg out of Tyler's grip with another strangled groan.

"Josh, I have to at least look at it."

"What would be the point? We have nothing to patch it up with."

Tyler realizes he's right - throughout their travels they'd gathered some medical tape, gauze, and even a bottle of rubbing alcohol. All they have now is the crowbar Josh managed to pilfer from the fight. Everything else they'd been forced to leave behind.

So Tyler sits on the straw and the dirt, dripping the last drops of river water onto the ground as he runs his fingers over Josh's good leg. "What happened?" He asks timidly.

Somehow Josh knows he's not talking about the river.

He shifts, the crowbar laid across his lap. "After the motel, we came across this guy. He was young, maybe only 18 or 19. It was obvious Ryan liked him, right off the bat. One night I heard him talking to Brendon and Pete - I mean, guys I was on your with, guys I've been friends with for fucking _years_ \- about the best way to go about…well, y'know. So I knew what I had to do. I went to the guy and warned him, told him to get the hell out while he still could. He left, and after that I started gathering as much shit as I could. That's how I had all that stuff when we met - I took it from them. I didn't expect them to come after me, Tyler. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. You didn't know. You did the right thing, protecting that kid."

"Hey." Josh puts the crowbar on the ground and pats his lap. "C'mere."

Tyler crawls onto Josh's lap, being careful not to jostle his leg. Josh looks pale, head leaned back against the beam. Tyler frowns.

"It's just a scratch, Ty. From Pete's knife. It'll heal." Josh's hands settle on Tyler's thighs, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs. "I said I'd protect you, right? And I did."

"I love you." Tyler presses the declaration into the side of Josh's neck, damp with sweat.

"Yeah?" Josh breathes.

"Yes. If you don't feel the same way-"

"How could I not? I love you, Tyler. I love you."

With a whimper, Tyler gives an experimental roll of his hips. Josh moans weakly, fingers flexing delicately on Tyler's thighs. So Tyler does it again, and this time Josh twitches, face twisting in pain.

"Don't move," Tyler orders, hands on Josh's shoulders. "Just let me."

He wishes Josh could fuck him, or even the other way around. Wishes he hadn't waited so long to ask for something like this, even though he knew Josh would have given it to him long before if he'd wanted it.

But this is good too, especially after finding out what Ryan wanted to do to him, how he'd wanted to do the same thing to that poor boy who joined their group. Tyler's grinding his hips in lazy circles, Josh pressing up to meet him every so often. It takes a while for either of them to get close, rubbing off on each other through the thick layers of their pants.

Eventually, though, Josh goes very still and makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat, pressing his feverish face against Tyler's neck.

When Tyler cums he's not sure if he's dying or living.

-

Josh's limp goes away within the day, but he refuses to let Tyler cut the dried, bloody part of his pants leg off to give the wound some air.

In the barn, Tyler picked up a sickle before they left and then they raided the house attached to it. They had no packs to carry anything, so consequently their pockets are full to the brim with whatever odds and ends they found. The most important was a bottle of Tylenol, one of which Josh swallowed dry just to ease the pain in his leg.

Tyler feels naked without his phones and as always Josh knows. So he tries to keep Tyler preoccupied, talking about nothing in particular and playing another game of I Spy.

And when they come across a bowling alley they enter through a side door, methodically picking off walkers as they amble toward them. Josh gathers a bowling bag, dumping the balls inside onto the floor. When he returns to Tyler, standing in the middle of lane 8, it's almost full with dead cell phones.

Tyler's throat feels tight, cobwebs unwinding. "Don't you wanna use this for supplies?"

Josh just shakes his head, proffers another bag he found, rattling with chips and candy and other snacks from the vending machines.

"I love you," Tyler tells him, presses a hand inside his own bag just to feel the dead plastic inside. "I'm alive."

"Yes, you are," Josh says, and kisses him.

-

Two days later they reach Columbus and the roads start to look familiar.

Josh looks pale, but Tyler's so excited he hardly notices. "Where do you live?" Tyler asks, as they're traversing the long stretch of highway between Hebron and Columbus County.

"Dublin," Josh says, voice strained. "Right near the high school."

"Oh, yeah. I know where that is. I'm from Flint, which should be coming up soon. Do you mind if we stop there first?"

"'Course."

Tyler drifts to Josh's side, gives him a kiss to the underside of his jaw, thinks the sweat there is from the sun.

-

Tyler's house is dark, and there are no cars in the driveway. He unlocks the front door and calls for his parents, for Zack, for Madison. The curtains in the living room billow in the breeze, but there is no answer.

He rips the place apart trying to find his family or a note or _something_.

There's nothing.

When he was so sure they'd be here there's nothing. No cars in the garage, no corpses in his parents' bed, no blood splatters on the walls.

"Ty, this doesn't mean anything," Josh tries to tell him. "They probably left, went to a relative's house or something. We'll find them."

Even still, Tyler finds himself on his knees in the upstairs hallway. "They're dead," he wails, gripping at the hair that's had time to grow out since Josh cut it. "I killed them."

For the first time since they met Josh isn't there to comfort him. Tyler notices his absence, rubs at his runny nose as he goes to find him.

Down the stairs, gripping the railing, through the living room, running his hands over the marble counter in the kitchen. A cabinet is open, swinging on its hinges.

"Josh?"

A rattling breath greets him, from the other side of the island. He steps around and sees Josh, on the floor with a box of Oreo's clutched in his hand. Tyler recognizes them as his dad's favorite kind, the flavor only sold during Spring time.

Josh's eyes are closed so he doesn't see Tyler join him on the floor. But he has to feel Tyler's hands running all over him, has to hear him asking what happened.

"Tyler…" Josh's voice is ragged, like a piece of paper torn in two. Like an old blanket fraying at the edges. "I'm so sorry, Tyler. I'm sorry I killed your phone, I'm sorry I almost let Ryan take you from me, I'm sorry I can't take you to see your family."

Josh wiggles his foot.

"What're talking about?" Tyler asks, reaches over Josh to finally pull his pants leg up.

Tyler feels sentient and fallen all at once, putrefying and prevailing at the same time.

Josh's hand is clamped tight to his arm. "Tell me something, one last time?"

On Josh's ankle there's a bite mark.

**Author's Note:**

> I have [Tumblr](http://gunsvorhands.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I wrote and edited this while on vacation with three screaming family members in the background. If I missed anything or if there are any mistakes, please let me know!


End file.
